


A Miracle to Restore Faith

by Storylandqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storylandqueen/pseuds/Storylandqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Believing is something Gabriel would like to do and Sam, well, Sam just wants to be able think straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Miracle to Restore Faith

There’s pain.

That’s the first solid thought that hits him when he breaks through the layers of whatever’s keeping him unconscious. He hurts all over in a way that sinks deep into his bones and makes him want to fall apart. It’s such a deep, radiating feeling that he can’t even pinpoint where it starts, as if his entire body is the epicenter of a massive explosion.

Then there’s a feeling like water rushing over him, cold and spreading until he’s numb and Sam tries to part his lips, but he can’t move, and then he can’t think because he’s gone.

It’s probably what being swaddled in cotton feels like, because it’s soft, but restrictive, everything dim and hazy in a way that means Sam doesn’t understand what’s happening. Maybe it’s similar to being drugged up - he doesn’t know, because he’s always tried to stay away from medication as much as possible. Whatever you want to compare the feeling to, Sam doesn’t like it, even if it is easy and free of strings.

When he’s like this, he’s not in control and things happen when Sam’s not in control. Bad things like threats and demon blood and the apocalypse. This feels harmless, but Sam thought he was doing something good before and he doesn’t trust what he feels anymore, especially not if it feels okay.

So he fights, he struggles through the webbing or fog or whatever it is that’s protecting him from what the world really feels like and there’s pain again. It’s comforting in its familiarity and Sam’s surprised because now he knows where it’s coming from. It’s radiating from a place in his chest, roots anchored deep in his body and spreading out, but no longer as strong and far reaching. It’s still agony, but at least the pain reassures Sam that it’s real.

There’s a sound from far away, a muffled call, and Sam wants to run from it because it sounds soothing, but it’s not Dean’s voice. That soft, obscuring existence closes in on Sam again and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to hide from two things or one, he just knows that he’s caught. He’s swept under again before he can stop it.

Or maybe he’s swept up, because nothing normal should make him feel this high. He shouldn’t feel so blissful, just like he’s flying out of his skin and leaving behind everything that’s ever hurt him. It’s not possibly to step outside your body and surrender your life’s negativity to the decay of time passing. It doesn’t work like that because the world can’t be that perfect, it has sharp edges that will cut you and hollow you out to the bone. It will leave scares etched into your skin that shine against everything you do like a dark blot against your very existence. You should never trust a good thing because they don’t exist without eventually asking a cost.

Eventually he soars too close to the sun, too near the idyllic world that deems him unworthy, because Sam’s high slowly fails, bringing him back down. Instead of a crash, it’s a slow lowering and a gentle reveal, like someone unwrapping the gauze from a wound layer by layer.

The pain is there, but it’s transformed, settling into an ache that echos with the struggle of Sam’s life and it’s such a familiar thing that he can’t tell if the tears prickling behind his closed eyelids originate from a physical or emotional source.

He pries them open and even that hurts because his eyes are gummy and blinking only makes them burn as liquid spills from the corners. Focusing in takes a moment, but when it does, there’s another pair of eyes looking back at him, hazel discs backlit by grace.

“Oh, thank you,” Gabriel whispers, but not to Sam. He tries to smile, but it trembles like his voice and Sam doesn’t understand why Gabe tips his head back and whispers again, “Thank you.”


End file.
